


That Time Vortex Went to Prison (and Swindle Got Him Out Again)

by CasusFere



Series: Flash Fiction [25]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, Mild Gore, Possible Character Death, Swindle is a bad guy, Vortex is a bad guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasusFere/pseuds/CasusFere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten connected 100-word drabbles from Prompt Table 1, set: Angst on <a href="http://tf-minifics.dreamwidth.org/"> tf_minifics</a> on Dreamwidth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time Vortex Went to Prison (and Swindle Got Him Out Again)

**Betrayal**

“Pleasure doin' business with ya.” Swindle slid the case down the table. The other mech didn't match his smile, checking the contents.

“Somethin' wrong?” Swindle asked.

“Not at all,” Strikefall said, flat and cold. He produced a pistol with one hand and a badge with the other. “Swindle, you are under arrest for illegal trafficking, in arms, illegal chemicals, and sentient beings, among other things.”

Swindle snorted. “Oh, y'all got absolutely _no_ idea.” He obligingly held up his hands, never losing his self-assured smirk.

“We'll see.” Strikefall activated his comm. “Strikefall to control- I have the suspect, ready for pickup.”

 

**Sympathy**

"He's smaller than I expected," Shorthilt said, looking back at the prisoner.

"Don't let his size fool you," Strikefall said grimly. "That mech has caused more death and misery than any assault vehicle alive."

Shorthilt frowned uncertainly. The prisoner was small, the size of the average car, and huddled in chains he certainly didn't look dangerous. He looked... scared and alone.

The transport jerked to a stop, and Shorthilt tugged the prisoner to his feet. The prisoner stumbled as he stepped out, and Shorthilt caught him. "Easy there," he said, voice pitched low. "I've got you. Just take small steps."

**Dedication**

Strikefall sat the desk, frowning at a datapad. Twenty-six orns of evidence, vid captures, and reports were spread on the desk in front of him. He'd been undercover for nearly nineteen of them. Now, the criminal was in custody, and the real work began; proving his war crimes to the court.

He had to show that Swindle's actions went far beyond what even Decpticons called acceptable, or the military judges would just throw him in a POW camp to be traded back in a prisoner exchange. Strikefall had worked far too hard and sacrificed too much to let that happen.

**Deliverance**

Vortex slouched against the wall of the cell, idly scratching at the flooring with a tail rotor. It would be another fifty-six breems until the guards came by, and he was out of entertainment until then. They'd learned not to give him cellmates the first orn. By the third, they'd learned to use the cell opposite his only if no other cells were available. Right now, it was empty, and Vortex was bored.

He stilled at the sound of footsteps. _Early..._ Two guards came into view, escorting a third, slightly smaller shape between them.

Vortex sat up, suddenly alert. _Swindle?_

**Divided**

Onslaught studied the maps in front of him, listening to his scout team leader's report. He acknowledged and dismissed him, turning his attention to the next problem. What he needed was a mech skilled in information gathering, either from the black market or prisoners. His most competent mechs in either area were out of touch - in prison, in fact. Not a new experience for either, he reflected.

Until they managed to escape - undoubtedly leaving behind a trail of destruction and lingering trauma, both mental and physical - Onslaught would have to operate with only half his elite team.

**Missing**

"You're a fraggin' idiot," Swindle said in greeting, as soon as the guards departed. "Get captured and don't even manage to warn someone? A hint where you'd gone or what'd happened woulda been nice. Took fraggin' forever to find you."

"Missed you, too," Vortex returned cheerfully. "Hope you got a plan."

"Unlike some people, I'm not stupid."

_Yes,_ Vortex interpreted. Swindle said nothing else; the cells were under around-the-clock surveillance.

The helicopter grinned behind his battlemask and relaxed, sprawled out on the floor of the cell. Whatever Swindle had planned, it was bound to be entertaining. Swindle's plans always were.

**Rust**

Strikefall paced the small office. Two files were open on his console screen, but he didn't bother looking; he'd memorized both. One, the in-depth dossier he himself had put together on Swindle, the other, a sketchier report from Intel on the helicopter in the cell opposite. Something in that first videoed exchange was bothering him, something more than just one captured Decepticon boasting to an associate.

_There was rust under the paint._ Something was seriously wrong - he just couldn't see what. Swindle hadn't been bothered by his arrest, he'd actually been... _smug._ What could Swindle know that he didn't?

**Shock**

"Swindle," Strikefall said grimly, stopping outside the cell, flanked by guards. "Time to go."

"My hearing already?" Swindle asked innocently, as the forcefield came down.

"Turn around," Strikefall ordered, stepping forward, the restraints in hand.

"No."

A stabbing pain in his back, then Strikefall was on the ground, paralyzed.

"Not bad," Swindle said to the guard.

Strikefall heard the forcefield behind him stop humming and the scrape of rotors as the helicopter got up.

"Hey, Strikefall, I wanna introduce you to my buddy," Swindle said, kneeling down in front of the incapacitated mech. "He's got some things to tell you."

**Grief**

Shorthilt stopped short, staring in horror at the scene before him. A guard knelt by the fallen form of his mentor. Strikefall wasn't moving - Shorthilt couldn't tell if he was even alive. Energon and hydraulic fluids painted the walls and pooled on the floor.

"What...who..."

"The armsdealer," the guard answered his half-formed question. "And the psychopath he let out. Decepticon _monsters_ "

He couldn't look at what was left of his mentor, staring instead at the abandoned cell as medics pushed past him. "He seemed so normal," he whispered, stunned.

"The worst ones often do," the guard told him darkly.

**Error**

"This would be more fun if they weren't all so gullible," Vortex commented, dumping the former guard's body on top of the first.

"If they weren't, you'd probably still be in prison," Swindle pointed out. He checked the street outside. "Still clear."

"How's our timetable for gettin' back?"

"Onslaught left us to fend for ourselves," Swindle said. "Why, got reservations somewhere?"

"Nah," Vortex said. "Just some pent-up aggression and a city full of Autobots."

"Sounds like opportunity." Swindle grinned. "Let's go teach some Autotrash why capturin' Combaticons is a bad idea."

Vortex laughed. "It's the last mistake they'll ever make."  



End file.
